ACT II. SCENE I. — The Same. Court within the Castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE before him with a torch. BΑΝQUO OW goes the night, boy? HOW Fleance. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. Ban. And she goes down at twelve. Fle. I take't, 'tis later, sir. Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch. Macb. A friend. Ban. What, sir! not yet at rest? The King's a-bed : He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. Macb. and shut up Being unprepar'd, Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought. All's well. Ban. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: Macb. I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that busi ness, If you would grant the time. Ban. At your kind'st leisure. Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. Ban. So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep I shall be counsell'd. Macb. Good repose, the while! [Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE. Ban. Thanks, sir: the like to you. Macb. Go; bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half world Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design And take the present horror from the time, lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. · [A bell rings. I go, and it is done: the bell invites me. [Scene II., 1623.] Enter Lady MACBETH. [Exit. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold: What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! - Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it. The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That Death and Nature do contend about them, Macb. [Within.] Who's there?— what, ho! Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done : — th' attempt, and not the deed, Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. - Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done 't. — My husband ? Enter MACBETH. Macb. I have done the deed. — Didst thou not hear a noise? Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cri'd, "Murther!" That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them; But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. Macb. One cri'd, “God bless us!" and, "Amen," the other, As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, List'ning their fear. I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say "God bless us.' Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. But wherefore could not I pronounce • Amen' ? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. Lady M. These deeds must not be thought After these ways: so, it will make us mad. Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murther sleep," - the innocent sleep; Lady M. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cri'd, " Sleep no more!" to all the house: "Glamis hath murther'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!" Lady M. Who was it that thus cri'd? Why, worthy Thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think Macb. I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done Look on't again I dare not. Lady M. Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, |